


Well You Were Myth-taken

by sadtrashbabey



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Awkward Flirting, M/M, Mild Language, Skinny!Steve, fluff?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 08:54:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6463843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadtrashbabey/pseuds/sadtrashbabey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another college AU that nobody asked for.  Steve likes the pretty boy in his mythology lecture, and then he stops showing up.  Awkward waiting room flirting ensues.  Title shamelessly stolen from Buffy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Well You Were Myth-taken

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic on here. I have like three versions of this because I changed the names and turned it in for school. Feedback would be much appreciated!

Steve liked to get to class early so that he had time to eat his lunch before he needed to start writing notes. And also to watch the guy with the long brown hair walk in. He was always just this side of being late, strolling in casually as though he had all the time in the world to swagger down to his spot by the front, his unofficial assigned seat. And he did have a swagger, a certain thrown back tilt to his shoulders, a swing that favored his left arm. It was appealing to watch, the easy way his body moved through space. Steve liked to make it his three times a week personal lottery to guess what his favorite stranger was going to wear, from the rather elegant peacoat to leather jackets and sweatshirts. A few days, such as today, he even had his just past shoulder hair pulled up in a ponytail, which did wonders for Steve’s inability to concentrate. Adding to the picture was his ever present laptop bag, black leather, faithfully hanging off his shoulder each and every time, no matter what the outfit. Steve didn’t usually get a good look at his face, as he was trying not to stare when the other man walked by and he sat closer to the front than Steve, presenting Steve with a lovely view of the back of his head, but from glimpses here and there Steve had seen pouty lips and stubble, almost the makings of a beard but a bit too close to a 5 o’clock shadow to really count as facial hair. To be honest, that was okay with Steve. He’d come to terms with his sexuality back in high school and was comfortable enough in himself to admit that if he had a type, just curling ponytails and scruffy stubble on a narrow waist like that would be the top of his nonexistent list. So he gave himself this little luxury, watching the pretty boy in class as he strode in, and occasionally making eyes at the back of his head. Steve had long since convinced himself that this was enough, that he could be single and more or less ready to mingle and people watch during lectures without needing to seek out anything else. He was far too busy these days to be too distracted by relationships and all their complications anyways. So he had this, 50 minutes a day, three days a week, learning about mythology in various cultures and keeping an eye on a certain brunette in the front of the lecture hall. So of course, as was the story of Steve’s life, the inevitable downfall happened, and Steve’s mystery stranger stopped showing up for class. It wasn’t cause for concern the whole first week, a disappointment sure, but nothing out of the ordinary, a student missing a week of class. Until it was two weeks and an exam and there was still no sign of him, just more empty spaces than usual in the front section to the right side. By the past of the exam, their second in the course, Steve was actively worried. He knew so incredibly little about this person, nothing even remotely helpful towards the goal of maybe eventually finding him, if only just to check that he was still alive. It wasn’t like Steve could just wander over to the teacher or the TAs after class and ask if they knew a relatively attractive guy with a bit of a beard, shoulder length hair, and a pronounced swagger who took this class, and if so, could they perhaps share all of his personal information or tell this complete stranger if he was okay. Because that definitely wouldn’t get Steve some quality forced time with another counselor or anything, perhaps even a restraining order if things went well. Besides, Steve was not in any way prepared to enter into such a potentially awkward situation with one of his professors, especially based of the purely physical descriptions of another student, whose name Steve didn’t even know.

Bucky. His name was James, but he went by Bucky. Steve was in USH, the University Health Service building, waiting to see a doctor about the rough cough that he had been having for the past month, and who should walk into the waiting area but the mystery man of myth. (Steve may have begun calling him the mystery man of myth, triple m for short) He wasn’t the usual cocky specimen that Steve was used to seeing, but there was no mistaking the hair in the ponytail, the perpetual stubble, or the body type. He walked in, signed in on the little computer in the corner where you say whether or not you have an appointment and what your student number is, and then settled down in one of the relatively comfortable chairs against the wall opposite Steve. And so, Steve got his first look at his face. And Steve liked what he saw, deciding it was a face meant for sketching, for being captured in art and traced with reverent fingers. He had droopy blue grey eyes and pouty pink lips, a strong nose and a soft jaw, and for the first time since the start of the semester Steve felt the irresistible urge to just grab the nearest object that was somewhat close to paper and draw, to capture the way he smirked as he sat, flipping idly through his phone, wearing a baggy blue hoodie with one hand in the pocket and a nice pair of dark wash jeans. Based on the way they fit over his rather distracting thighs, Steve could guess that they were the kind of pants that did wonder for an already nice ass. Not that he had noticed his ass or anything. At least, not too much. Steve must have been overtly staring because Mystery Man of Myth looked up and frowned a bit, not too pronounced but enough to show he was ready to slide into defensive mood if necessary. He met Steve’s eyes, holding his stare.

“Can I help you or something?” Steve had promised himself after the train wreck that had been the end of his last relationship that he wouldn’t let himself get sucked away into his own mental wonderland of romantic symbolism and flowery language, but damn, his voice was the vocal incantation of sin, a little smoker rough and silky, which Steve realized was a strange was to describe a sound, but it fit his voice so well. And then Steve realized that he was again staring and hadn’t answered the question. He physically shook himself, trying to shake of the combined fog of his sickness and seeing the object of his pining in an unusual setting, especially Steve’s home turf of UHS.

“I, uh, sorry. It’s just, you look like one of my classmates, someone from my Monday Wednesday Friday class, but I’m not completely sure. Do you by any chance take Myth and Religion? With Woodrow?” The Mystery Man of Myth, now confirmed, relaxed slightly in his chair, tapping his phone against his thigh. Which didn’t help Steve’s already scattered concentration, drawing attention to those thighs. Steve wanted to draw those thighs almost as much as he wanted to draw that face.

“Myth with Woodrow, yeah.” He shifted around in his seat for a moment, as though debating to say more. “I haven’t been to class in a couple of weeks, but it’s a good class.” He seemed to regard Steve through a different lens, giving Steve’s marker stained grey sweater, black framed glasses, bulky blue backpack and black skinny jeans a once over, smirking a bit when he notice Steve’s well doodled upon Converse. “Yeah, I think I remember seeing you there. You taking to fill that one Gen Ed requirement or is it a major course for you?” Steve pulled his lip between his teeth, trying to decide how to answer without driving Mystery Man of Myth off. (Steve also really needed to stop mentally calling him that. Maybe he’d switch to hot stranger. Or just ask his fucking name)

“Well I’m considering doing a minor in classics, mostly concentrating on the art and architecture part. I’m a visual art major. But I generally really like mythology. And yeah, it covers the Gen Ed requirement, so I figured it was an all-around win.” Hot stranger nodded his head, looking surprisingly thoughtful.

“That would be an interesting course of study, focusing on art and architecture in the ancient society. Relevant to your major too.” Steve nodded in agreement, almost letting the silence laps into awkward territory before recovering his manners.

“So how about you, checking boxes off the requirement list or is Myth a necessary course for you?” Hot stranger laughed a throaty sound that settled low in Steve’s stomach, filled with amusement and pain in equal parts.

“Checking boxes, I’m afraid. I’m a mechanical engineer major.” He smiled with more mirth than real joy. “Or at least I was.” He fell silent; his phone now clutched white knuckled in his hand, his eyes downturned and introspective. Steve sat silently watched him, completely lost as to what was happening, but finding himself adoring this stranger far more than was logical.

“Can I draw you?” Hot stranger’s head shot up, his eyes wide, looking at Steve with a mixture of confusion, wariness, and a hint of the confidence Steve had first noticed about him from class. Steve hadn’t meant to ask that, hadn’t meant to speak at all, especially when this stranger was so clearly wrapped up in his thoughts, but the mindless question had burst forth anyways and now Steve could feel himself turning bright red and his palms slicked with sweat. He dropped his eyes to the floor, sinking down in his chair, trying to make himself as small as possible without downright curling up into a ball in his chair. “I, um, I’m sorry, sorry… I didn’t mean… sorry, that was stupid...”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Steve glanced up through his eyelashes to find Hot Stranger looking at him with his head tilted, a clear indication of curiosity. “It wasn’t stupid, just, very unexpected is all.” Steve was aware that he was still some shade of tomato, but he forced himself to tilt his head up, meeting his eyes. Hot stranger took a breath and let out a sigh, shoving his phone into his hoodie pocket and grabbing his bag, before standing and crossing the room to the chairs near Steve. He set his bad three chairs away from Steve and sat two chairs away, leaving an empty chair in between them for space but while still being comfortably close enough to have a conversation.

“I was just really surprised is all. That’s not a request I get every day. Or ever, in this instance.” Steve frowned, thinking there had to be someone else who had seen this face and been seized by the urge to draw it, to document all those lines and planes on some nice quality paper. Hot Stranger, whose name Steve was still hoping for, shook his head and laughed in a self-depreciating way. “No, don’t give me that look. I know perfectly well what my face looks like.” He paused and frowned, almost unconsciously. “And the rest of me. So yeah, it was a strange request.” Steve looked down at his fingers, resting both of his hands on the armrest of his plastic chair, his body turned part way in his chair, making himself open to this conversation with Hot Stranger. Still looking down he traced the shadows on the armrest.

“Well, take it from the visual arts major who knows a thing or two about faces and beauty standards, you have a face meant to be drawn and I’m honestly surprised no one's told you that before. I guess everyone else just has better control over their mouths.” Steve shot him a quick smile, not meeting his eyes. “And also, I meant it; I really would like to draw you if you’re at all amicable to the suggestion.” When silence greeted Steve’s repetition of his request he risked glancing up, only to find that Hot Stranger’s eyes were focused on his lips, and he looked like he was struggling with something. “What? Did I say something wrong? Is there something on my face?” Steve swiped the back of his hand across his lips, distracting Hot Stranger’s stare. To Steve’s surprise, Hot Stranger, who was almost not a stranger at this point, began at this point to blush, just a faint tint of pink that was creeping up his neck and across his pretty cheeks.

“Sorry.” Now it was Hot Stranger who couldn’t meet Steve’s eyes, looking around the room as though trying to find a place to hide. “I uh, well, I, I kind of missed that last bit that you said.” Steve raised an eyebrow at Hot Stranger, wondering if it was a condition he wasn’t supposed to ask about or if asking to be drawn twice was too much and he had blocked it out. “I, I uhm, I kind of got distracted when you started talking about your mouth.” Hot Stranger’s neck was fully, as were his ears. Steve just blinked at him, feeling his own cheeks begin to heat up. Hot Stranger glanced Steve’s way, taking note of what was probably a very unattractive flush growing on Steve’s face. “I, well, I rather like your mouth.” Hot Stranger stared hard at his feet while Steve tried to make all the neurons and whatever else was up there in his brain start working again.

“Oh.” Hot Stranger turned his head slowly, looking up at Steve through his long brown eyelashes. There was something about the miserable expression on his face, about the way he had closed off his body language (Steve read a book this one time about body language, and since then tended to over analyze how the people around him positioned their bodies) and the way his right hand gripped his knee, the knuckles almost white against the darkness of his jeans. “Oh.” There must have been enough of a giveaway in Steve’s voice, some change in his tone that implied that he had figured it out, that he understood what wasn’t being said, because Hot Stranger, who’s face Steve appreciated enough to think he looked hot even when he looked rather miserable, visibly tensed up, glancing fast around the room in a way that telegraphed anxiety and fear, looking for a way out or someone to step in if thing got rough. Steve felt such pity and compassion, understanding that there had been times that this subtle, or perhaps not so subtle on other occasions, announcement was met with contempt, or worse, violence. “I uh, I um. I. Sames.” Steve gave up trying to explain himself while comforting his clearly uncomfortable companion. Hot Stranger stopped his frantic eye movement and turned his whole body, looking at Steve with hard eyes.

“What?” Steve squirmed in his chair; unsure which words would make this better, which terms he could use to explain his situation and more importantly himself. So of course, Steve’s mouth did that thing again, that one where it goes off without his permission.

“If what you’re trying to say is some sort of self-outing technique then it’s only fair that I tell you that I’m also outside of the heteronormative box. I’m pan actually, if you need a specific label like that.” Steve held Hot Stranger’s gaze, suddenly confident, emboldened by his declaration. Hot stranger’s mouth opened and closed rapidly, like one of those goldfish who’ve run into the wall one too many times.

“Oh.” Steve deflated slightly, his hands finding the edges of his sweater and twisting it around. “Aw no, don’t do that with your hands, I know that wringing. Sorry, I just, that was really upfront and I wasn’t expecting it. Again. I guess I’m getting into the habit of underestimating that distracting mouth of yours.” Hot Stranger quirked the corner of his mouth into a half smile, blinking bashfully at Steve. Steve took his que from Hot Stranger and did his best goldfish impersonation for a solid moment.

“You call me out for saying scandalous things and then go and say something like that. Talk about not fighting fair.” Hot Stranger laughed, tossed his head back on his neck and open mouthed laughed. Steve rather liked the sound. He realized that it was the first time he’d heard Hot Stranger laugh, the sound one of genuine amusement and, like everything else Steve had taken note of already, quite beautiful.

“Well then, mister artist,” He treated Steve to a slow smile, one that managed to bring to mind both filthy promises and danger. “I guess you’ve figured out my secret fast then.” He leaned into the space of the empty chair between them. Steve felt his body continue to betray him by also leaning closer, until they were both resting against an armrest, only a few inches separating their faces. “I really don’t fight fair,” he announced, his voice soft and low, quiet on a personal level and undeniably causing reactions in Steve’s stomach.

“If you don’t mind,” Steve blurted out. “What’s your name? I need to stop calling you Hot Stranger in my head.” Hot stranger, hopefully used for the last time, laughed again, the motion moving his head closer to Steve until Steve was tempted to stick out his tongue and lick whatever part of his face was closest, before he moved back, regarding Steve with open curiosity. He leaned back in his chair and stuck out his hand.

“Bucky. You can call me Bucky. Although Hot Stranger is a good alternative too.” Steve blushed and choked on a breath of air and Buck, not Hot Stranger, Bucky, smirked at him. Steve reached out and took the offered hand, wrapping his own skinny fingers around Bucky’s firm warm ones.

“Steve, Steve Rogers if that makes a difference. And is that really your actual name?” Bucky laughed shaking his head at Steve and still holding his hand.

“No, but it was my favorite nickname before I was dubbed Hot Stranger and I’ve stuck with it this long, I might as well keep it.” Steve nodded, shaking Bucky’s hand in time with his head nods.

“Bucky. Alright. I can work with that.” Steve chose not to focus on all the Hot Stranger jabs Bucky had made. Bucky rolled his eyes a little, not fully exasperated, more amused. He gave Steve’s hand one last squeeze before releasing him. Steve momentarily frowned, missing the warmth that just shaking Bucky’s hand had brought to him, but he shook it off quickly. “So, Bucky, come here often?” Bucky huffed out a laugh, but there was much less amusement in it than the times before. Steve instantly regretted his glib attempt at making Bucky laugh, having momentarily forgotten that they were sitting in the serious waiting room of UHS, a place that people rarely wanted to be, especially not with any frequency.

“Far more than I’d like these days. How about you? Making a second home here in the ever sterile décor of UHS?” Steve flinched at Bucky’s tone of voice.

“Aw shit. Sorry, I kind of forgot where we were for a minute there. A bit distracted I guess. But yeah,” Steve sighed, his shoulders slumping and his eyes falling to his scuffed up shoes as he thought of all the time he’d spend in this building and hospitals in general, how much time he’d already spent this semester sitting in this exact clastic chair, just waiting. “I do come here often.”

“Hey.” Bucky’s voice was soft and he was leaning back over the empty chair when Steve turned his head and looked at him. “Sorry. I should know better than to take my pain out on other people like that, especially someone sitting in the same place that I am.” He reached his arm over the empty chair and gently elbowed Steve’s arm. “Besides, I’ve got to admit, I’m enjoying having company for once. Makes it harder to freak out about what they’re going to say.” Steve felt himself smile.

“Yeah, I think this is the first time that there has been someone else in this waiting room. The crowds all seem to be down in the immediate attention emergency area.” Steve pulled his hands from where they were still tangled in the hem of his sweater, reaching over to bump Bucky back with his bony elbow. “And yeah, I know what you mean. I just keep hoping that one of these times they’ll tell me something good for once.” Bucky nodded, that concerned look slipping onto his face again.

“Do you mind me asking what’s brought you here today? I probably shouldn’t, both cause it’s kind of rude and also that gives you grounds to ask the same thing of me, but I’m curious.” Steve took a deep breath, his hands grabbing the armrests.

“Depends, you have all day? You want alphabetical? I’ve had most illness at some point or another: pneumonia, asthma, scarlet fever, diseases that they thought were gone, things I’ve already been vaccinated against. It’s mostly lung issues, respiratory problems. I’ve got chronic muscle fatigue, bad eyes, bad hearing, and a weak spine.” Steve glanced at Bucky, who was still leaning against the armrest as he listened, that concerned look still on his face. “All those things that bring frequent hospital visits and a nonexistent social life.”

“Shit dude.” Bucky reached out, grabbing Steve’s hand where it was resting on the armrest and giving it a squeeze. “I’d say I’m sorry but that’s such a stupid thing to say and I hate it when people say it to me, so I won’t. But seriously man,” Bucky ran his thumb over the back of Steve’s hand. “I don’t know your whole story, but surviving all that shit means you must be damn tough.” Steve shook his head, squeezing Bucky’s hand before releasing it. He wanted to hold hands with Bucky, he really did, but not like this, not out of pity because Steve’s body was falling apart and broken.

“Whatever. I’m still kicking, aren’t I? So there’s all the sad dirty details on poor little Steve, always the small and sickly one.” Steve was aware that he sounded bitter, he could hear the self-depreciating contempt in his own voice, but he couldn’t stop it, couldn’t resist the cruelty in him that always came out when someone showed him pity, or felt sorry for him, or tried to tell him how strong he was for having survived all the shit life kept throwing at him. He didn’t want to be like this, especially here in this room, with Bucky, but he didn’t know how to stop the anger that seemed to feed off of encounters like this, off of all the reminders that he was weak, that he was sick and frail and not good enough.

“Steve. Listen to me. I’ve only talked to you for the first time today, but I can already tell, you are a firecracker. You are fierce and you will remind people when they start to forget. But seriously, take it from a fellow fucked up mess like me; you are so much stronger than you give yourself credit for.” Steve felt his jaw tick, that little muscle movement that he couldn’t control even if he tried. Bucky must have seen it because he held his hands up in a visual surrender, letting Steve know he wasn’t going to push the issue. Bucky pulled his hand away from where it still rested on Steve’s armrest and rubbed at the corner of his jaw, looking at the wall across from them but not seeming to see anything. He stayed silently rubbing his jaw with such severity that Steve thought he was going to draw blood.

“Hey, Bucky. You okay? I mean, as much as you can be for someone spending a Thursday night in UHS. Is it because of what I said?” Bucky’s hand froze on his face and then dropped and Bucky looked back at Steve, something in his eyes darker than it had been.

“Sorry Steve. Not your fault. Just went a little far from here for a moment, that’s all.” He looked down at his hand curled in his lap, and then moved it to touch his other arm, the one that was still tucked in his hoodie pocked. “It was a car crash, a head on collision from an erratic driver. Two fatalities and me, broken beyond repair.” Bucky’s voice was so soft Steve almost missed what he said, between his not so good hearing and the way Bucky was talking, as though trying to tell Steve something important without having the proper words for it. Steve reached out carefully, trying to ground Bucky the way he had tried to ground Steve, resting his hand gently on Bucky’s elbow. Bucky smiled without turning his head. “I’m a one armed orphan. I’m pretty sure at this point in the movie I get sold into the circus.” Steve made a sound roughly described as pfffttt.

“Your stupid face is far too pretty for the circus.” Bucky glanced over at Steve, seeming to notice for the first time Steve’s hand was on Bucky’s arm. He moved his right hand away from where it was resting on his left arm, or whatever was in his left sleeve and grabbed Steve’s hand, holding it tight. “Besides,” Steve continued, “Now you can join my dead parents club and train with Batman.” Bucky laughed, looking surprised to be doing so, the sound both beautiful and broken. Steve ran his thumb over Bucky’s knuckles, wishing he knew how to help him. Steve reached over and gently touched Bucky’s chin with his fingertips. “I mean it Bucky. I know I’m only talking to you for the first time today, but some part of me feels like I’ve known you my whole life, as strange as that sounds. Maybe there’s some truth in former lives or one of those other ideas and you and me have done this all before or something. Who really knows? But a conversation with you is worth far more than you know, and I want you know that from here on in I will attempt to be there for you, if you’ll let me.” Steve screwed his face up, sticking his tongue just a bit out from between his lips. “That sounded so much less dramatic and cheesy before I said it out loud.” Steve dropped his hand from Bucky’s face, both of them getting a tint of pink in the cheeks again. “I think I’d rather go back to sarcastic comments and complementing your face.” Bucky smiled, releasing Steve’s hand in favor of touching his cheek, right under the frame of his glasses.

“Go get coffee with me tomorrow before class.” Steve blinked, and blinked some more.

“Okay.” Bucky smiled, a real smile, all pleased around the edges and everything.

“James? James Barnes?” They both jumped back in their seats, releasing all contact with each other as a nurse looked up from her clipboard, still in the process of walking into the room. Bucky cleared his throat, his hand clenched in a first and his breathing slightly elevated.

“Just a moment please.” The nurse nodded, taking in the way Bucky and Steve were sitting.

“Room 318 when you’re ready, sweetie.” The nurse turned and left just as quickly as she had come, taking her clipboard and exiting back into the same maze of halls that she had appeared from. Steve looked at Bucky, noting his hand had released from the tense fist it had made. Bucky looked over at Steve and Steve raised an eyebrow, doing his best to smirk as efficiently as Bucky did. It must not have been as good because Bucky just rolled his eyes.

“James Barnes huh?” Bucky grimaced playfully, as though it was a joke that he didn’t like his name or something.

“If I make the coffee Starbucks and buy you a brownie to go with it will you forget that you ever heard that?” Steve laughed and reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone.

“Throw your number in and I may be convinced to ignore what I just learned.” Bucky handed his own phone to Steve before taking Steve’s phone from him, efficiently entering his information into Steve’s phone while Steve did the same on Bucky’s phone. They traded back phones and Bucky stood up, looking a bit unsure. “So Starbucks? Noon? Whoever gets there first grabs a table and texts the other?” Bucky relaxed from his uncertain posture at Steve taking control of the potentially awkward situation.

“Sounds like a plan. Shoot me a text if something comes up.” Steve nodded, for some reason lazily saluting Bucky.

“Will do.” Bucky chuckled, shaking his head but smiling as he grabbed his bag and headed down the hall the nurse had come from.

“See ya, Stevie.”

“Back at ya, Bucky.”


End file.
